Red Right Hand
by xxagent182xx
Summary: A mysterous stranger arrives in Satan city. A cigarette between his lips and a scowl on his face. What is his true reason for being there? Or will everyone be so wrapped up in his charm to care? Or to notice the rising body count? VGxGK
1. Hidden in his coat is his red right hand

Red Right Hand

Chapter 1: Hidden in his coat is his red right hand

A slim shadow was cast upon the concrete sidewalk, the light from the moon shown brightly onto him. He slowly walked past many empty shops. Not taking a glance towards them. Not really caring what was in them either. 

A frown was on his lips and a cigarette between them, the gray smoke twirled up towards the dark sky as he breathed in the one thing that calmed his nerves. 

With his tongue, he rolled the cigarette to the other side of his lips, causing the lit ash to fall free. He didn't want his hands to touch the white paper; they were already in his pockets of his black trench coat. Even with the white gloves, he hated to sully his hands. 

He continued down the street and halted in front of a grassy yard. Black orbs flickered to the left. There was a house there . . . The windows broken in, the grass had dandelions growing in patches, trash was scattered across the area. His lips raised in disgust, but the yelling was the worst. He couldn't shut it out. He could shut out the buzz from the phone wires above, the zoom from the cars that raced by- but not the shouting. His eyes went to the front door as it was flung open and smashed against the wall- a young looking man was shoved out, more cruel words were shouted at him but he seemed to ignore them- or accept them. Maybe they were true. Was he worthless? Was he nothing? Was he a . . . mistake? The voice screeched again- his father- booze heavy on his breath. Telling the teen to never return again and to burn in hell with his mother. Those seemed to hurt the most. His mother must be dead . . . at least to his father she was. 

The door slammed shut and the boy stood there for a moment. His mind racing and inquiring where he was going to go. His friend's perhaps . . . again . . . He knew they were sick of taking him in but they never said anything about it, he just knew. 

The man that was standing there watching him could hear the low sobs that came from the teen. The tears swirled in red as they dripped from his dark eyes and off his jaw. His hand lifted to his face, wiping the blood and tears. He sniffled and turned, but no one stood there on the sidewalk watching him. He was only met with familiar darkness and a void that filled his heart. He could have sworn he felt someone there. But there was no one . . . like usual . . .

With a frown still on his youthful face, he started down the broken concrete; chunks of it easily pushed with his worn shoes. 

Maybe tonight he'd wander the streets again- he doesn't like depending on others. He had already ate dinner . . . if one could call it that . . . his father handed him a cold one and box of cereal that had about a bowls worth. And he was being generous with the beer. Of course he hadn't drunk it. He didn't want to be like his father. He'd die first. 

His mother died three years earlier. Before her death, everything was wonderful. Perfect if he could say so himself. They had a nice house, money, and food. They had everything they needed to survive and more.

But, his mother came down with leukemia . . . she had gone through chemotherapy but nothing worked. She succumbed to the disease. After that, his once great father turned to alcohol, cigarettes, and anything else to get his mind off of his dead wife. Which often involved his fist and his son's face. It would have been the same for the eldest brother but he had long since moved out. He never visited . . . to his brother's dismay. He left no phone number . . . 

The teen continued down the vacant street. His heart bleeding and so was his cheek. 

This was just another day . . . tomorrow he'd go to school, come home, wait until his father got back from the bar, take a beating, and go to bed. But on special occasions he'd get kicked out. Usually because he was drunker than usual or he got in a fight at the local pub. The spiky haired teen kicked absently at the small rocks on the sidewalk, each one rolling into grass or onto the asphalt. 

He didn't know where he should roam to; the town was pretty small. Maybe walk around it a few times. A few dozen times. It was only midnight, and it would be a while until it was 7. He wished it was a Friday night; so then, he wouldn't have to go to school looking like he did. If he got there early, he could take a shower and get a good breakfast. That would be very nice. And so he walked through the city, counting down the hour until he need to leave to Orange Star High School. He hoped that time would fly, but it inched towards 6. 

The sun slowly rose, painting everything gold. But he remained in darkness as he grew closer to the school. He avoided all confrontations by going through the back gate. Down the many halls and soon he was in the men's locker room. The gym teacher was in there, but he didn't mind the teen being in there. 

He quickly cleaned his body of its filth, dried off, and changed into clean clothes that he had in his locker. He was prepared for anything. 

He ran a brush through his unruly hair and it still settled back to ebony spikes. He sighed and gazed into the scratched mirror. Dark circles were starting to appear under his eyes, fresh bruises adjourned his jaw, and a large cut was on his right cheek. What would he tell everyone this time? Another fight with some punk kid that didn't go to school here? He guessed he'd go with that one. They always fell for it. At least he hoped so. 

By then, he could hear voices in the halls. School would start in half an hour and he had homework to do. He quickened his pace as he headed towards his first class. 

He was flashed different looks as he walked by, envy, fear, and lust. He knew them all. He was a very handsome teen, and one that no one dared pick a fight with. He was happy that they didn't; he didn't need anymore pain in his life. 

He soon arrived in his first class, his teacher Mr. Roshi greeted him with a smile as he took a seat towards the back of the classroom. He pulled out various papers from his folder he took from his locker and began to finish his work. He sighed heavily. He didn't care about what atrium the blood flowed into first. But he didn't want to fail this class, so he quickly finished the worksheet. Then he moved onto his English homework. Some questions about some boring book he had to read. He read the book. It was a long painful process but he eventually got it done. And in no time, he was finished with his homework. 

He slumped into his seat, a groan at his lips. He cracked his knuckles and sat with his back straight as the first bell rang. Another day of boredom. Another day of pointlessness . . . 

"Goku?" He looked up to see brown eyes looking at him. "You zoned out there for a second. You get in another fight? Or were two girls fighting over you and you got caught in the cross fire?" A smile appeared on his teacher's face and one came to the teen's. 

"Another fight. That guy and his friends never leave me alone." He shook his head. "They never learn though."

Mr. Roshi chuckled deep within his throat. "Yes, you're right about that." 

The door to the classroom opened and some students appeared they took a seat- their teacher didn't care where they sat, unless they became a distraction; then they would be moved. One of the girls waved at Goku. He smiled back and rolled his eyes. He obviously didn't like the sophomore but she didn't seem to notice. 

Her and her group of friends sat in front of him. She sat next to her blue haired friend, who also was eyeing him like he was a piece of rare fruit. They both giggled and smiled at him. He made sure to avoid all eye contact with them. Hoping maybe they'd forget he existed. The room was soon filled with students. The seat next to him was thankfully empty. That's the one Yamcha usually sat in. He couldn't stand the kid. He had way too much energy and he thought he was a _chick magnet_. Most of the girls couldn't stand him, let alone like him more than a friend. 

A voice to the left of him drew him from his thoughts. He smiled as he turned to his best friend Krillian. "Hey buddy, get in another fight?" Goku nodded. He knew that Krillian stopped believing the fight lie. "You know you could have came over, we could have talked or something." 

"I know . . . I just didn't feel like it, that's all." His friend frowned as the bell rang.

Mr. Roshi started the day with his usual cheerful greeting, making the students gag at his happiness. 

The day passed by quicker than Goku had anticipated. Too quickly if you asked him. In the last class of the day, Krillian invited him over so they could finish a stupid project for English. Goku called home using a pay phone, but no one picked up so he left a message. He prayed that his father would be okay with this. He didn't want him to be angry when he got home. 

As they walked to Krillian's home, they chatted about their day. Mentioning how bored and tired they were. The trip seemed to drag on but Krillian kept on about his girl friend, Eighteen. Goku didn't mind, he was friends with the girl. 

Goku was always astounded when he visited his best friend's home. It was magnificent and compared to his; his home seemed like an empty wet box in an alley. Three stories of brick caused one to look at it. Clean cut grass and a white picket fence. It was perfect . . . the inside was nothing short of that. The shades were dark green, purple, and magenta. 

Krillian's parents greeted them with a smile. Goku gave a small wave and a hello as he and his friend hurried up the stairs. 

Three hours later they had finished the project. A diorama of a scene from the novel. Nothing either of them was interested in. While he was there, Goku had a much needed dinner. With thank you and goodbye on his lips he exited the large house and went back into the cold. It welcomed him in, something he didn't want . . . The ice bit at his nose as he wrapped his arms over his chest, trying to stay warm. His teeth clattered noisily together as he strolled home. Almost regretting going to his friend's home. It wasn't nearly this cold the night before. 

Then he felt it. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as it appeared. Someone was watching him. He quickly shot his head over his shoulder but saw no one. A dull chill shudders through his back. He could have sworn . . . it was the same feeling he had the night before as he wept on the front porch of his house. 

He once again scanned the area . . . but there was no one there. With a frown, he turned back and was on his way again.

After about ten minutes of walking, he was at his loathed home, yet again. He stood on the porch. The living room light was on. His father was home. His jaw clenched and he took a breath, waiting for the hit that he knew would come. He slowly opened the door and as he predicted- it was there- jerking him into the house and tossing him to the floor. Raining pain onto his body as he did nothing to fight back. 

__

1.) Respect your parents 

And he always did. No matter how much each knuckle dug into his already bruised flesh, he took it. His father's words hurt the most. Each one dealt a blow to his heart. Causing more red to spill unknowingly. He knew the tears would come, like they always did. Causing more words to slap at him. It stopped as his eyes rolled back. He stopped feeling the physical pain as darkness swallowed his form, but the words still cut into him deeply. His cries of pain died out as he lost consciousness, but that didn't stop his father from kicking his ribs mercilessly. 

The onslaught soon stopped as a stomach whined for the bathroom and the liquor was spewed into the murky water in the toilet. He too found darkness welcoming. 

In the front yard, dark lashes slid shut. He was glad the cries had stopped. The unheard screams from the teen caused his heart to wrench. He could hear them within his mind. Each silent prayer that went unheard by god. He felt his gloved fists within his pockets tighten. 

Soon all would know his father's sins . . . He would pay the price for his wrong doings . . . as would so many others. He suddenly swiftly turned and moved towards the small shop he had recently bought. There will be hell to pay . . .

To be continued . . .

Agent 182: Thanks for reading. Yeah, I know. Another fic! I had to write it. I hope you liked it. I certainly did. I was inspired by a song, that's where the title comes from and the movie/book needful things. Just so you know. I hope you review. I love to know what you think. Oh and if you didn't notice yet, it's an A/U. Will be a VG/GK fic as usual!

^ ^ Love ya Ryan!


	2. Designed and directed by his red right h...

Red Right Hand  
  
Chapter 2: Designed and directed by his red right hand  
  
He awoke where he had fallen unconscious. In the middle of the living room. His eyes stared forward to the ceiling as he fought to not welcome the darkness once again. He wanted to . . . but a voice stopped him. One he loathed.  
  
"You're not going to school today." The voice boomed and commanded him. He shakily put his weight onto his elbows as he sat up; they were the only things that supported his weak and sore body. Ebony eyes looked toward his father reluctantly.  
  
"Did you hear me? Or do I have to imprint it on your mind?" The young boy answered quickly yes, I heard you. His father nodded and looked over him quickly, not wanting his eyes to linger any more than they had.  
  
"Go get cleaned up. You look disgusting." His father sat upon a torn recliner, his glaring eyes not really directed towards him. It made him sick enough just to talk to the worthless piece of shit he called a son, let alone look at him. He watched without sympathy as his son slowly got up.  
  
Goku bit into his bottom lip as he fought not to cry out in pain. Every pain in his body seemed to have awakened at the same time. He finally managed to get to his feet, they cried under him, wanting to give away- but he wouldn't let that happen, not with his father sitting there.  
  
He removed his filth from the living room he only added to the mess, stepping over beer cans that were scattered across the dirty carpet, down the short hall and into the small bathroom.  
  
His hands wiped the thin layer of- he didn't even know what it was, and he didn't want to know- off the mirror, making sure to wash his hands very well afterwards.  
  
He was appalled by what he saw. Bruises covered his smooth skin; dried blood was still flaking off of the area under his nose and the side of his lips. He quickly brought water to his face, washing it of the grime.  
  
With a heavy sigh, he dried the cool liquid from his face making sure that all the blood was gone. He cursed his father under his breath as he set the towel back down on the sink and his soft gaze turned towards the shower.  
  
He pulled back the curtain and felt his stomach heave. His father had obviously forgot where he should have been throwing up . . .  
  
He coughed as the horrid stench reached him, his hand going to his face and covering his nose. It stung at his eyes as he turned on the water and it quickly washed away the vomit.  
  
He was lucky his father only drank beer and didn't eat anything; then this would be more unpleasant than it already was. He groaned as he slipped free from his clothes, the fabric pulling across his wounds that he had yet to see.  
  
His clothes fell to the floor and he stepped into warm water. It always seemed to comfort him, but it ended as he heard the bathroom door open and his father's voice reached him.  
  
"I want this house cleaned up when I get back. If it isn't . . ." Goku felt a chill run up his spine. He didn't even want to know what the other man was thinking as he heard the door slam shut.  
  
With another sigh he brought the soap to his skin, barely letting it touch the battered skin of his arm. His side was riddled with purple, his skin shuddered under the soap as he felt tears choke him. They came back once again, not stopping for nothing. The salt mixed with the clean fresh water as they slid from his eyes; his back came to rest against the cool wall of the shower. The water now barely touching his skin, only his thighs and feet were being sprayed by the liquid as he stood there sobbing.  
  
His mind screamed for him to call the cops and free himself from this misery . . . but then he'd be alone . . . and he feared being alone . . . his father would come around, his heart reminded him. Like the good old days . . . They seemed so far away . . .  
  
When they would go to the park, him and his brother Radditz playing baseball with their father; hitting the ball out of sight almost every time. That was when his mother was still alive . . .  
  
She was so beautiful . . . thick glossy brown hair past her shoulders, a thin body with a rich golden tan to enhance her beauty even more. Her soft voice would sing lullabies to them even as they grew older. Goku never grew tired of them, yet Radditz had . . . he was a few years older than him, 5 to be exact, Goku understood that he was growing up and didn't want to be treated like a child anymore. But Goku adored his mother and he knew she loved to sing to them so every night he would listen to her soothing voice and drift into a blissful sleep.  
  
He missed those days so much . . . he longed for them every time he tried to sleep. But found it hard to do with his father lurking around. He would often be kept up by moans and cries from his father's room, the bed post slamming into the wall loudly as he shut his eyes tightly and placed his pillow over his head, trying to shut out the noises. But it never helped . . .  
  
He moved back under the water, letting his tears wash away but his cursed thoughts remained.  
  
His hands brought shampoo to his hair and quickly cleaned it, then conditioned the soft hair, rinsing it. Then he was ready to dry and get some clean clothes on. In no time he was out of the shower and dressed. His spikes once again messy and his thick bangs fell into his heavy lidded eyes.  
  
He picked up each beer can and placed them into the trash can, wiped up spilled beer and possibly contents of his father's stomach. It took an hour to clean just the living room. It was disgusting . . . he was ashamed to live in such a nasty house.  
  
It was 3 o'clock when he finished cleaning the small home. His sore body needed some fresh air. He slipped on his worn shoes and made his way outside, the warm sunlight heating his bruised skin. He walked down the sidewalk that same feeling hit him . . . the back of his neck tingled as if someone was watching him.  
  
He spun quickly and saw no one, yet again. He felt a tinge of fear bubble in his stomach but he forced it back down. There was nothing to worry about . . .  
  
As he strolled down the street, he smiled at neighbors that waved back. Many people knew him, but were not fond of his father. Not many were. They didn't know of his cruelty but he was the town drunk that tried to get alcohol from anyone with any means necessary. If it meant giving away his son's clothes, they would be gone in a flash. Another reason why he kept spare clothes in his locker.  
  
He had never met any of his father's drinking buddies and he was very glad he hasn't. He didn't know what they would do to him if they were drunk . . . He doubted his father would do anything to stop those bastards . . .  
  
He stopped as he felt something calling to him.  
  
No sounds were heard, but some strange force caused him to look to the right.  
  
A store had just opened. He vaguely recalled that it had been bought by someone that came from the big city . . .  
  
The red 'open' sign on the door seemed to call his name and pull him towards it. His feet moved under him and he soon found his hand on the door knob and turning it.  
  
His breathing hitched as he stopped himself. Wondering why his mind was so hazy. He shook his head to clear the gray but it remained, he felt the knob jerk away from him and the door stood open in front of him. He stood amazed- inquiring who had opened it.  
  
The heat from inside seemed to warm his soul as he stood outside in the sudden cold. The warmth beckoned him and he let himself step inside, the door shutting quietly behind him.  
  
A deep voice came from the left. His eyes shot in the direction, his heart suddenly thundering within his chest. He stepped closer to the man dressed in black slacks and a dark blue long sleeve shirt. He mind questioned why the man would be wearing such an outfit in such heat?  
  
"Hello, how may I help you?" He said smoothly, a smile on his lips. Goku's eyes trailed up the man's shorter body and to his upswept black hair. He had a feeling in his gut that he had seen this man before . . . but where?  
  
Goku just shrugged lazily and glanced around the fairly large store. It appeared so small from outside . . . He moved away from the man and started through the store, seeing many expensive looking items that he knew he wouldn't be able to pay for.  
  
Something caught his eyes. Everything seemed to fade from existence as his eyes rested upon it.  
  
It looked just like her . . . He didn't dare pick it up as he stared at the picture. His mother . . .oh god it was so beautiful . . . it had to be her . . . His hand moved forward and lightly touched the painting to make sure it was real. He felt the dried paint under his fingertips.  
  
"Beautiful isn't she . . ." A voice started him from his daze. He spun to see the man from the counter smiling at him, his hands in his pockets. Goku nodded and looked back to it.  
  
"She looks just like my mother." Goku said softly.  
  
"You must take after her then." His voice was low and breathy as he moved to stand beside the teen.  
  
Goku seemed to ignore him as he stared at the artwork. "How much?"  
  
The man didn't answer for a moment; he looked over the boy and frowned. "Nothing you can afford." And it was so true. Goku's eyes slid shut for a moment and reopened. His father would love to have this, as would he. "But . . ." Goku was shaken from his thoughts as he heard his word. "If you want it that much . . . I suppose . . . you could have it . . . for a small price . . ." Hope filled Goku's eyes as he faced the man.  
  
"What? I'll do anything."  
  
"Anything?" Goku felt the man's hand on his shoulder but he didn't look to it. "If it means that much to you I wouldn't want to deprive you of anything . . ." Goku listened to the man's calm voice; it was almost as soothing his mother's. "If you want to, you could always come by and help me here. I could use an extra hand and you can do some small favors for me." A rare smile came to the teen's face. He nodded.  
  
"Sure, I'll come by as much as I can." The hand pulled away from his shoulder as he moved.  
  
"Take it. It's yours."  
  
He carefully brought it into his hands, cherishing the picture by running his hand across it. "Thank you. Thank you so much." He felt like hugging the man but he didn't dare.  
  
"It was my pleasure. By the way . . . my name is Vegeta."  
  
"I'm Goku." He nodded at the boy, not taking his hands from his pockets to shake his hand.  
  
Goku looked up to a small clock and his eyes went wide. It was almost 8 o'clock! Had that much time passed? It confused him for a moment as he looked upon it. "I'm really sorry- I have to be going. I'll try to be by tomorrow." He gave a quick wave with his free hand and went back into the cold air.  
  
The man stood in silence as he watched Goku leave. The smile on his face disappearing as the boy left his sight.  
  
He moved his hands to where the picture had been moments earlier; his fingers trailing across the cool metal despite how hot it was in the store.  
  
He looked up as the door opened and another victim came inside, a slightly dazed look upon their face. A grin came to his face as something appeared where the picture had been moments earlier. His hands remained in his pocket. All his plans were coming to play . . .  
  
To be continued . . .  
  
Agent 182: Thank you for the reviews- you guys kick ass! * grins * I hope you enjoyed the chapter and as always it is very nice to receive reviews! 


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